


Tonight We Own the Sky

by ArgentSleeper



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Buried Alive, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Good!Mordred, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentSleeper/pseuds/ArgentSleeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Camelot's enemies goes too far, and Merlin is left to deal with the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight We Own the Sky

Merlin woke gasping.

 

The candle by the side of his bed had gone out.  With shaking hands, he relit it, not trusting his magic not to cause it to explode or melt into a giant puddle of wax.  Then he moved it out of the way of the breeze that had grown heavier through the open window.

 

Retrieving his jacket from a pile on the floor, he shrugged it on.  There.  Now he wouldn’t next awaken from the cold.

 

His blanket remained abandoned on the floor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Merlin, did you hit your head on something recently?”

 

Merlin gave Arthur an incredulous look as he continued to check the saddle girths.  “…I’m gonna go with no?   Can’t say I remember doing anything like that.  Why do you ask?”

 

“Not once in the past ten years have I ever seen you excited to go on a hunting trip.”

 

“Can’t see there’s much to be excited about,” his bemused grin belying his words.  “We’re off to kill some poor baby deer’s mother so that it grows up with only a bunny and maybe a badger for company.  Why don’t you just burn down the forest while you’re at it?”

 

“Merlin, you were _smiling_.”

 

“What, is that a crime now?”

 

“Oh, forget it,” Arthur scowled, hoisting himself up onto the saddle.  “Just try not to let your little mood swings scare away all the game.

 

Arthur maintained his scowl all the way up to entering the forest, where he switched to tracking face.  His mind stayed on Merlin, though.  He _had_ been smiling.  Which no matter what Merlin said was strange.  Not only because he was _never_ in a good mood when they went hunting, but because lately Merlin hadn’t been in a good mood at all.

 

It started after Arthur returned from a tour of the nearby fields with the visiting Lord Demby a couple of weeks ago.  Although, seeing as Merlin had already been in a foul mood when Arthur next saw him, it might be fair to say it started while he was gone.  The fact was, however, that Arthur knew neither what had caused it nor how to fix it, no matter how he tried.

 

And now it seemed a hunting trip was doing the trick.

 

He wasn’t the only one to notice Merlin’s odd behaviour.  Mordred, too, kept glancing at the servant, a frown knitting his brow.  Far from allaying his worries that he was just imagining things, this only increased Arthur’s suspicions.  As much as they could, Merlin and Mordred did their best to avoid each other.  For some reason, Merlin in particular held a veiled animosity towards the boy.  The king had begun to notice it not long after he knighted the druid, but since neither let it detract from their duties, he let it pass.

 

But now Mordred was concerned about Merlin.  Which in turn made Arthur _very_ concerned about Merlin.  He checked the faces of the other knights, but none of them appeared to be treating either of the two with anything but a friendly smile and a shared joke.

 

Maybe Arthur was imagining things.  Maybe Merlin had just been waiting and finally gotten some good news from his mother.  Maybe Mordred was just upset Merlin didn’t like him.  Maybe everything was just in Arthur’s head, and he should focus on hunting like he was supposed to.

 

Tearing his thoughts away from the conundrum of his servant, Arthur managed to bag two hares.  They were hardly enough to make a dent back in the kitchens, however, and Arthur still felt the need to scratch the itch that had been developing in his brain, so they elected to follow through on their plans to stay the night out in the woods and continue their quest for game tomorrow.

 

Merlin positively _beamed_ when Arthur made that pronouncement.  The dopey grin stayed on his face while he prepared a stew for the company using one of the hares, and Arthur could have sworn he heard the servant _whistling_ while he was washing dishes down at the stream, and that was definitely a little _jig_ while he gathered firewood.

 

As darkness fell, Merlin’s jig-wood kept the fire burning bright.  They hardly needed it for more than warmth.  The stars were in top form that night, not a cloud in sight, the moon doing its very best to live up to the sun.

 

“Any volunteers for first watch?”  Normally that job went automatically to Merlin, but Arthur was feeling generous from his worries.

 

“I’ll do it,” Mordred said instantly.

 

Gwaine waved him off.  “Nah, I’ll go first.  Can never go back to sleep once I wake up and I’m not much of one for waking up at the crack up dawn.  I’ll switch with you when I’m getting sleepy.”

 

Mordred looked disappointed, and for some reason shot another glance at Merlin –who was still grinning like a maniac and was starting to worry Arthur that perhaps he’d been enchanted – but didn’t protest.

 

Everyone but Gwaine settled down into their bedrolls.  Arthur noted that Mordred picked a spot close to Merlin, earning the first frown he’d seen on Merlin’s face all day.  He didn’t hiss at Mordred to go away, though.

 

Silence fell as the company drifted off to sleep.  Arthur found it a bit more difficult to find slumber than the rest, mind occupied by smiling servants and disquieted druids, but eventually he, too, found rest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gwaine liked the first watch.  He was used to staying up late at the tavern, so it was only natural he transfer those skills to his role with the knights –sans alcohol, unfortunately.  Sometimes when Merlin was forced by Arthur to take on the job, Gwaine would sit up with him and chat, enjoying the now all-to-rare time alone with his friend.

 

Said friend was lying asleep by the fire.  Gwaine frowned as he noted Merlin’s blankets had been tossed to the side, leaving him exposed to the elements.  Elements which were sure to get colder as the night wore on, even with the heat of the nearby fire.

 

Carefully, making sure not to startle him awake, Gwaine moved over and eased the blankets over Merlin’s shoulders, tucking them in around him to avoid any drafts.

 

“There.  Snug as a bug in a rug.”

 

Gwaine didn’t know why a bug would be cuddling up with a rug, but his old mum had always said it, so he was sure it must be a good thing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was an odd bit of shuffling nearby.  It jarred Arthur out of his light sleep, though not enough to send him scrambling to his feet, sword in hand.  Gwaine hadn’t sounded the alarm, so it must not have been anything important, like bandits.  Then what was it?  Still no cry of attack, but someone was whispering now.  “Merlin?  Merlin, wake up, mate.” _  
_

* * *

_Merlin should have seen it coming.  Really, what else did he expect these days?  But was it too much to ask that someone come visit Arthur who didn’t want to kill him?_

_To be fair, Lady Demby’s maid didn’t want to kill Arthur.  She wanted to kill Uther.  Unfortunately, there was the little fact of Uther already being dead working against her.  The maid didn’t seem to find that a problem, though.  Having been expecting something from at least one of their party for days, Merlin followed her until he found her in the crypt.  He wasn’t surprised it was her.  The woman seemed more than half off her rocker._

_“Excuse me, miss, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”  Perhaps politeness would do the trick, at least for now.  Perhaps she would abort whatever she was doing until a time when she would have no witnesses.  “Did you lose your way in the corridors?  I know the castle can be confusing to navigate at times.”_

_“Go now, boy.  Go, while you still have a chance.” Or perhaps it was too late for any of that._

_“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he replied calmly, even as his heart sank.  He would have to stop her, whatever she was doing.  Avoiding an attempt like this was always so much nicer, involved much less killing on both sides._

_“Fine, then you will die with him.”  Her eyes glowed, and the door behind Merlin slammed closed.  If he had checked, Merlin was sure it wouldn’t have opened anymore._

_“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s no one but you or I alive in here.”_

_“For now,” she smirked.  “But in a moment that will change.  However, to put things back the way they were, after such a big spell, I will need an equally big counter-spell.  I’m afraid it will kill anyone in the vicinity who is not the castor.”_

_“Sounds lovely.  How about you pick out a resting place, and I’ll cast it?”_

_She giggled.  Always nice to make someone laugh, even if they were a psychopath.  “Oh, I like you.  It’s too bad you’re here.  I would have asked his majesty if we could have taken you home with us.  My lord needs a new jester.”_

_“Sorry, I’m taken.”_

_After that it had been a round of curses and counters, neither of them getting the better of the other.  Merlin did his best to try not to damage anything.  It would be very hard to explain to Arthur why his father’s tomb suddenly had a chunk blasted out of it.  But at some point in the battle, a large marble slab was being hurled at him, and he only just managed to duck in time, throwing himself forward, waiting for the crash that would surely bring the guards running._

_It never came.  In fact, when Merlin opened his eyes, the slab was frozen in mid-air, and a manic light had come into the maid’s eyes he was eerily unfond of._

_“You’ve been so good to me, dear boy, it’s only right that I return the favour.  You offered me a resting place.  Seeing as I won’t be doing any resting any time soon, how about you choose one for yourself?”_

_And that was how Merlin found himself inside a tomb with that great marble slab easing its way back on top._

_This was the point where Merlin should have used his magic to escape.  It was just marble.  He could enchant marble.  He could make it float just as well as Lady Demby’s middle-aged handmaiden, better even._

_But he didn’t.  Merlin’s mind went blank except for one thought, which wasn’t really a thought, but more of a concept: panic.  Complete and utter panic._

_Merlin pounded on the surfaces around him, screaming for release, babbling incoherently when his raw throat ceased to allow him to shriek.  The skeleton beneath him poked into his bones, driving him further into a terrifying black-edged void.  He had to get out.  He had to get out of here and into the open air and oh God he was running out of air running out of air he was going to suffocate no one would even know to find him here he was going to die going to die I’m going to die alone and trapped forever and ever._

_How long it took to calm down he didn’t know.  Although, he couldn’t really call it calm.  More dazed.  He really was running out of air.  Merlin knew he should do something, but not a single idea came._

_Arthur will never know I’m dead.  He’ll think I ran away and left him…  I wonder if she’ll tell them I’m here or if I’ll be left here to turn into bones like you…  Crypt is such a funny word, how it sounds like creepy.  Creepy is better.  I’ll tell Arthur he should change the name from crypt to creepy...  Arthur will never know…  Never get to tell him…  They say it’s like falling asleep.  I miss sleep.  I’m awful tired… They’ll probably think I killed myself.  Arthur will blame himself.  He’ll be mad at me for dying.  Need to tell him…  I’m sorry, Arthur.  Not your fault.  ‘m sorry…_

* * *

 

 

“Come on, mate.  You’re having a nightmare.  Up you get, you’re going to wake everyone else.”

 

Gwaine’s tone had grown more urgent, corresponding with Merlin’s increased fidgeting, which was quickly turning into flailing, accompanied by soft whimpers and moans.  A few others were beginning to rouse from the commotion, indulging in a bit of grumbling which hushed as they realized what had awoken them.

 

Arthur was the first to react, joining Gwaine by Merlin’s side.  The servant hadn’t managed to tear himself from his dreams yet, though he continued to flinch away from their touches as if he were.  “Merlin, wake up,” Arthur took over, hoping his friend would respond better to his voice.

 

All he gave was another, louder, sob.

 

Then suddenly Mordred was awake and scrambling out of his bedroll, pushing Gwaine unceremoniously out of the way and tearing the covers away from the servant.

 

Merlin bolted upright with a scream.

 

Mordred gripped him by the arms as he made to jump up, forcing him to look at him.  Merlin’s eyes were casting around wildly, his chest heaving with erratic breaths.  “You’re okay, Merlin!  You’re okay.  You’re outside.  You’re okay.”

 

He held on, repeating the mantra quietly until Merlin calmed.

 

“Merlin?”  Arthur asked anxiously.  “Are you alright?”

 

Merlin stilled, his eyes widening in horror once again as if suddenly realizing where he was.  Then he wrenched himself away from Mordred, sprinting into the woods.

 

Gwaine immediately started after him, but Mordred grabbed him before he could stand.  “Leave him be.”

 

“Leave him– what was that about?” Gwaine sputtered.  “What just happened?”

 

“I’d like to know that myself,” Arthur agreed, standing and crossing his arms firmly over his chest as he stared down at his youngest knight.  He tried not to look accusing, but it was hard when his closest friend was out there somewhere suffering the night, and someone apparently knew why and hadn’t bothered to tell him.

 

Mordred looked nervously down at the ground.  “He asked me not to,” he murmured.

 

“And I’m _ordering_ you to belay that request.”

 

“It’s a long story.”

 

“We have time.”  Arthur heard a ghost of a sob in the distance, and he ached to chase after it.  “Right.  The short version then.”

 

 

* * *

_At first it was just a scream.  A terrible, horrible scream.  Mordred nearly took off his hand with his own sword –which definitely wouldn’t have impressed King Arthur– so high did he jump.  He flew to the door of the armoury and out into the corridor, but though there were guards and knights and servants milling about, somehow not one was in any way reacting to those terrible screams._

_For a moment Mordred thought he might be going crazy.  Was Morgana’s madness catching?  Then he realized as the screams turned to choking howls, that the sound was indeed in his mind, but it was no hallucination.  He was hearing someone who could mind-speak._

_But there were no druids this close to Camelot.  Mordred was sure if there were he would know about it by now.  Arthur had just the other day been saying how he was glad for Mordred’s presence as he could be used to help with the negotiations with the druid clans.  Mordred had been so pleased to be useful in such a task, and so disappointed to hear it would be some time before his services would be able to be employed._

_There was only one other whom Mordred knew who had the skill.  Emrys.  But Emrys would never speak to him.  He hated him.  No matter what Mordred did to prove his loyalty, both to him and the king, Emrys continued to shut him cruelly out._

_But from the sounds of it, Emrys’ actions in this matter were not currently his own.  He sounded like he was being tortured.  And for his unconscious screams to be heard by the druid, he had be somewhere in the castle._

_“ **Emrys?  Emrys, what’s wrong?  What’s happening?** ”_

_There was no answer, not besides the agonized moans, anyway.  Mordred started jogging through the corridors, hoping he might be able to hear Emrys’ pleas with his ears and not just his mind._

_“ **Where are you, Emrys?** ”_

_Emrys was babbling now, a bit blearily.  Mordred could hardly make out his mutterings.  “think I ran…  tell them I’m… bones like you…   funny word… from crypt to creepy...”_

_The crypt.  Mordred began sprinting through the castle, ignoring the annoyed shouts of those he passed.  The heavy doors were shut, and Mordred heard nothing inside, but this was the only place he could think of that would have Emrys thinking of crypts._

_Unless he was dying.  But no, Emrys couldn’t die.  He wouldn’t let him._

_Mordred flung the doors open, hand up and ready for a fight.  But the large room was empty, no Emrys, tortured or otherwise, in sight._

_Or not completely empty.  The lid to King Uther’s tomb lay propped against it.  Sprawled beside that was the body of Lady Demby’s maid.  Mordred ran to her, but it was too late; the woman was dead.  A scorched circle around her told the tale: a spell gone wrong.  Carefully he replaced the marble lid to the former king’s tomb, making sure no one would ever notice it had been moved._

_Emrys had gone eerily silent._

_“ **Emrys?  Please answer me.  Please.  Just so I know you’re not hurt.”**_

_He didn’t answer.  That could have been because of spite, but Mordred had a terrible feeling it wasn’t.  He did a quick tour of the room, but came up empty.  No Emrys._

_Just as he was about to leave again, praying Emrys wasn’t responding just because it was Mordred asking, he noticed the skewed slab.  No mason or knight or whoever was in charge of interring kings would allow a lid to be skewed.  Lead weighing in his gut, Mordred ran to the tomb and used his magic to lift the lid._

_Emrys lay within, unconscious.  Trembling, Mordred drug him out of the tomb.  The servant had tear stains down his face, his knuckles bloody from where he’d tried to batter his way out of the forced grave.  He was barely breathing._

_“Emrys?  Please, Emrys.  You have to be okay.  You **have** to.”_

_Mordred closed his eyes and tried to focus on a healing spell.  He’d never done any before, and certainly none for this type of problem, but he had to do **something**.  Just as he was about to incant, a choking gasp came from beneath his hands._

_His eyes popped open.  “Emrys!  You- you’re alive!”_

_Emrys’ hand snapped up and gripped his shirt.  “Maid… bad… magic…”_

_“Don’t worry, Emrys.  She’s gone.  What happened to you?”_

_“Gone?”_

_“Yes, her spell turned against her, whatever it was.”_

_“Good…” Emrys took a few deep breaths, gathering his strength.  “Get rid of her.  We’ll say she ran off.  Don’t tell Arthur.”_

_“But, Emrys–”_

_“ **Don’t** tell Arthur.”  
_

* * *

 

 

“He’s been having trouble sleeping ever since.  He made me promise not to tell anyone.  I was visiting Gaius the first time it happened, or I wouldn’t even know.  I’m so sorry, sire.”

 

Arthur listened carefully to what he was sure was a very edited story.  On any other occasion he would be interested to know how Mordred heard the screams through the thick tomb or managed to push aside a giant slab of marble by himself, even with the rush of adrenaline, but for now the important thing was Merlin.

 

“It’s not your fault.  He should have told me himself.”

 

Arthur left his dumbstruck knights to berate Mordred further –no matter what he said about not blaming the young knight, to a certain degree he couldn’t help it – and hurried off into the woods after Merlin.

 

He found him curled up against a tree, his body shaking slightly as he was racked with mostly silent sobs.  Arthur settled down beside him.

 

“Merlin,” he said softly.  “What happened?”

 

Merlin sniffed heavily, tugging his knees in tighter to his chest.  “It was a nightmare,” he insisted gruffly.  “It’s nothing.  I just overreacted, sorry.”

 

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.  Please tell me?”

 

He was quiet for a moment, save for a bit of hiccoughing.  Then he whispered, “The walls were closing in.  I couldn’t escape.  There was nothing I could do.”  Merlin hung his head in shame.  “Yeah, I know it’s not real.  I’m completely fine.  See, I told you, just a silly dream.”

 

“It’s not silly, Merlin.”

 

Merlin’s eyes snapped angrily to his.  “Mordred _told_ _you_?”  Arthur’s sad understanding was all the confirmation he needed.  He hissed under his breath, “I’m going to kill him.  I’m going to kill him, and this time he’s going to stay very, very dead.”

 

“That’s not funny, Merlin,” and suddenly Arthur’s voice was hard.  “He was right to tell.  How could you keep this from me?”  _How could you handle all that on your own?  Why did you think you had to?_

 

“It was very easy, sire.  I simply didn't mention it.  Can’t say it ever came up in conversation. 'Say, Merlin, been buried alive lately?  Really? Sorry about that, mate, rotten luck-'”

 

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur tried very hard to sound scolding, but his voice betrayed him, cracking halfway through.

 

Merlin crumbled again, resistance lost.  “I keep seeing it…  I know I’m not really there, that I’m not in that box anymore, that I’m in a wide open space with plenty of air, that I’m _fine_ , but I can’t… I can’t stop feeling like I’m right back in the crypt again, back in the darkness.”

 

He dissolved into sobs again, and Arthur had no choice but to wrap his arms around him until he calmed again.

 

“Look up.”  Merlin’s frown deepened at the command, confused.  “Merlin, look up, now.”

 

He obeyed, and Arthur raised a hand to sweep above them.  “Do you see that?  It’s the sky, Merlin.  Stars.  So long as you can see the stars, you’re safe.   _You_ _are_ _safe_ , do you hear me?  I am _never_ going to let anything happen to you like that again.  You will _always_ be able to see the stars, if I have to lead troops up there myself and drag one down to keep in your pocket.”

 

Merlin started crying again, but it didn’t seem to be so much from distress this time.  Arthur held him closer, placing a kiss on his temple.

 

“I’ll bring you the stars, Merlin,” his murmured into his hair.  “I’ll bring you home the stars.”


End file.
